MINNESONG.
I.
“In dem walde süze döne
Singent kleiniu vogellin;
An der heide blümen schöne
Blüjent gein des Meien schin.”—
Liehtenstein.
“In the wood the little birdis
Warble sweet their roundelay;
On the heath the pretty flouris
Blossom in the sheen of May.”
May has come:—the woods are ringing;
Clearer sounds the hunter's horn;
Birds in every brake are singing;
Yellow-green the springing corn.
May has come:—in field and meadow
Starry bloom the virgin flowers;
Broad the maple flings its shadow;
Snowy white the elder bowers.
Green the slope of yonder mountain,
Mellowed to a golden glow;
Under feathery birch, the fountain
Sparkles in its gurgling flow.
Orchards redden,—crimson blushes
Tremble o'er the apple-boughs;
There her young the robin hushes,
Still beside her trilling spouse.
Joy, on glittering pinions driven,
Gayly flits around, above;
Glancing, kindles earth and heaven;—
All is life and light and love.
II.
“Ir wangen wurden rot,
Sam diu rose, da si bi den lilien stat.”—
Vogelweide.
“Her cheeks grew red as the rose,
That by the lily blows.”
“Take this garland for thy golden hair,”—
So I spake unto a maiden fair,
Maid with eyes of love, like heaven's own blue,
Thinnest veil of cloud soft shining through;—
“Take this garland,—'t is of earliest bloom,
Newly plucked, and filled with fresh perfume.
Had I jewel rare, and precious stone,
Gems of Ind, O, they were thine alone;
Costliest gift for thee were all too poor;—
Take this garland,—I can give no more.
Fairer flowers than these indeed I know;
On the lonely heath afar they blow:
There the violet peeps beside the spring,
Coyly peeps, as loving linnets sing;—
Go with me, and we will gather there
Fairer, sweeter flowers to wreathe thy hair.”
Bashfully the maid the garland took;
Like rewarded child, she blushed and shook:
Clearest red her cheek, as when the rose,
Dewy sheen, behind the lily blows.
Low she bowed, and love-looks sparkled clear,
Under silken lashes, through a tear:
That was my reward;—O, there was one,
Holier far, my lips shall breathe to none.
III.
“Vor dem walde, in einem tal,
Schone sank diu nahtegal.”—
Vogelweide.
“'Fore the wood, and in a dale,
Lovely sang the nightingale.”
Under the willow, in a meadow,
Where the brook was running clear,
There was my pillow, dark in shadow,
Blossom and verdure springing near.
'Fore the wood, and in a dale,
Lovely sang the nightingale.
Silent reclining the willow under,
Just as evening faded away,
Sweetly shining, a heavenly wonder
Bent over me, as there I lay:
Light her form; her face was pale;—
Lovely sang the nightingale.
Nymph of fountain, in dewy brightness
Rising from wave in vest of green;
Dryad of mountain, with airy lightness
Flitting around the huntress queen;—
All to that heavenly form must veil,
Smiling as sang the nightingale.
Then she addressed me,—“O, why dost linger
Here in a world that chains thy will?”
Softly she pressed me with snowy finger;
Pulse and beating heart were still.
Lovely sang, in the lonely dale,
Fainter and fainter, the nightingale.
